"Who is it, Bess?" "How should I know?" replied Edgeworth Bess. And it hampers us. There’d only be endless rows if I was at home. But never would any so dishonour himself as to hand a fellow rogue over to the authorities. Members of the crowd looked over their shoulders and stared at her through the smoky haze. Life is two things, that’s how I see it; two things mixed and muddled up together. Sweet sixteen year old Shari, who never once figured out the morning sleep hangovers she suffered monthly. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. ” The lights sank, the prelude to the third act was beginning, the music rose and fell in crowded intimations of lovers separated—lovers separated with scars and memories between them, and the curtain went reefing up to display Tristan lying wounded on his couch and the shepherd crouching with his pipe.
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